


bombs over broadway, fire in the sky

by KayCeeCruz



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Domestic Violence, Fluff and Angst, Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 13:12:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4961902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KayCeeCruz/pseuds/KayCeeCruz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur seems to always be rescuing Eames...Eames just wants to return the favor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bombs over broadway, fire in the sky

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Inception Reverse Bang. Thanks so much to my artist involuntaryorng for her awesome artwork! Enjoy! <3

He’s been running for a while now. The streets are all exactly the same. Cobb had wanted it that way. No distinct places. _Never work from memory_. Eames’ shoes continue to pound on the pavement, their sound echoing in the dead silence of the streets. He knows there’s a horde of projections following him and he needs to stop, get his sense of direction under control. But he cannot make his legs stop. Being ripped apart by projections has never been his favourite way to leave dreamscape.

There’s a distant sound of a motorbike revving up and his steps begin to falter. Eames knows that signal. He reaches a red brick wall, stops moving even though both his heart and feet want to keep flying, running, never stopping… but he _remembers_ what that sound means. He leans against the wall, the roar of an engine closing in, and bends, places his hands against his knees, taking in deep breaths to calm the fire in his lungs. He can’t be this way when he is found.

Eames closes his eyes, recites Frost in his head and feels the calm wash over him. The motorbike is close, maybe a minute away. Straightening, he leans his back against the wall, crosses one foot over the other one lazily, pulling a fag out of his inside pocket, placing it unlit against his lips as the motorbike rounds the corner and stops with a slight screech of brakes. He pauses a moment before looking up, settling a slight smirk on his lips, lighting the cigarette.

“What took you so long, darling?”

Arthur in leather may be Eames' undoing one day.

He doesn’t tense when Arthur pulls his Glock from somewhere Eames can’t see. He points it at Eames' head. He can hear the sound the projections are making become louder. Arthur’s finger on the trigger trembles slightly but his face remains still. The last thing he says before putting a bullet in Eames’ head is a tired, “I swear to God, Eames.”

Eames jolts awake in the hotel room next to a worried-looking Yusuf. He hears Ariadne mutter quietly in the corner to Cobb. “What the hell was that?”

Cobb’s gaze is on Eames only for a second before falling to Arthur’s calm face. Eames follows his stare and his breath holds until Arthur jerks awake. Their gazes collide and Eames can see the rage and fear boiling under the surface of Arthur’s face.

This particular fight is going to be epic.

\---

The problem is that Arthur thinks Eames needs to be rescued. Sometimes from other people, sometimes from himself.

The truth is sometimes Arthur is right.

\---

At thirty, Eames is damn near the best forger in the world. He doesn’t have the most experience, that is true, but there’s no one who can _be_ someone else the way Eames can. He’s practiced for a long time not to live the life he was living. There’s something about being anyone he could be that makes Eames feel whole. In a way he hasn’t since he was seventeen and was pummeled into a role he’d never wanted.

At thirty, Eames has learned what it means to hurt, really hurt in body and mind. He’d run from home at sixteen but not because he didn’t love his family. The Duke and Duchess of _______ were extraordinary parents and had loved him and his two siblings more than most of their peers' ever had. They were called Geoffrey and Lillian, which was how they asked to be addressed. Eames knew how the titles they held irked them a bit.

They were eccentric to say the least, and Eames' love of art came from his parents. His father played the cello so magnificently that it was hard not to hate him just a bit for his talent. His mother sculpted great, massive works that took months. Eames would sit with her in the guest house that was her studio and watch her work, sometimes with clay, sometimes chisel. Once there was even a blowtorch involved.

They went to operas, plays, musicals, and Eames would act out the roles for his mother while they ate lunch in her studio.

They took their children on holidays. To India and Africa, the States, Australia…

Eames believes that was where he acquired his taste for travel. He loved watching the people. How the region changed the way they spoke, of course, but also how close they stood together and where their hands would fall. It fascinated him and he practised to emulate them.

Sometime in his young adulthood, he knew he didn’t want to just live the life he had: leisure and ease. His father had earned his title, his mother had gone on missions in different countries, and even Thomas worked in London helping Centrepoint.

After sixth form was done, Eames joined the RFA. It was what he wanted, needed, and so he did it. Left behind all the comforts and trained for Special Ops. It was where he was first approached for Project Orpheus. He was young, fearless, and thought outside the box. Or so his superior officers told him.

(The fact that they are at all taken by surprise when Eames runs off with a PASIV after he is discharged seems just plain ignorant.)

He meets Griffin one night, after a particularly grueling session. He has green eyes and his smile is deep set. Eames is nineteen, at the verge of discovering his talents, in a position where he is unsure, and there’s something about Griffin that he thinks he recognises. A look in his eyes that Eames feels he knows. Griffin is older, established, and he makes Eames feel like he matters. Like everything that Eames is or wants to be is exactly what he should be. Eames lets Griffin fuck him against the wall of the men’s toilet, stars exploding behind his closed eyes, and he thinks in that moment that he has found what’s been missing. They fall into a relationship fast and hard. Eames is either working on Project Orpheus or he is with Griffin. There’s nothing else.

He doesn’t think much about how Griffin calls him every hour. Eames has never been in love before. And he wants to talk to Griffin as much as he can. He wants to be with him.

But then that all changes.

\---

He leaves the military when it becomes apparent that they have no idea what they are doing and are more than willing to sacrifice any number of test subjects to get those answers. He doesn’t feel the need to be one of those many. He doesn’t re-sign and walks away with his very own equipment. Griffin’s mouth is a firm, angry line when Eames tells him he wants to go out on his own. The whispers of Dreamshare have been rampant for a while.

“You have no idea what you’re getting into.”

Eames feels his shoulders tense. Griffin is always saying that. Reminding Eames that he isn’t as smart as him. That he needs Griffin to realise his dreams. A small part of Eames is screaming at him that this isn’t true, but the bigger part that has always believed he wasn’t good enough agrees.

“I can handle it, Griffin.” He says it gently, knows when not to step over the line. It’s been that way between them for some time. Griffin can get angry quite easily. “I have you with me, don’t I?”

He feels the heat of Griffin’s body on his back, swallows hard as Griffin’s hand slides over his hair, grips tight and pulls. Eames bites back a pained sound and ignores the dark roil of his stomach. Tries to relax into it, tell himself he wants it. Because sometimes he does…but sometimes…

Griffin’s lips are against his ear, quiet rumble of words. “Don’t ever forget how much you need me?”

Eames shakes his head.

He knows he can’t.

\--

He doesn’t think there’s anything wrong. Griffin knows every detail of Eames’ days. He wants to make sure Eames looks a certain way. Acts a certain way. Makes him start working with people that have money. It doesn’t matter they have no skill. The first time Eames mentioned it, Griffin had smashed his fist into a wall, accused Eames of using him. The anger had been sudden, like a bright burst of phosphorous, before burning out just as quickly. Eames had stayed shocked into stillness. Griffin had apologised, hugged him and muttered how much he didn’t want to lose Eames to anything.

The grip he kept on Eames made bruises appear on his skin.

\--

The first time he acknowledges something is wrong is when he is on a job in Cairo and runs into an old friend.

“Eames, sweet!” Mallory Miles greets him just inside the hotel lobby, steps faltering for a split second before recovering, and she envelops him in a warm hug and he bites back the moan that wants to escape. The pressure on his bruises alleviates and he manages a small smile. It’s not convincing. Mal has known him too long.

“Let’s go sit at the bar.” She glances at the clock. “I have a few minutes.”

Eames nods even though he should be getting to the meeting. Since he is their Forger and they will need him for this job, he knows they can’t start without him. One drink with an old friend won’t hurt.

Mal talks about nothing and everything. She gushes about the man she is seeing. (“He is brilliant, mon cheri.”) She asks about his current job. She reassures him that she and her friends are merely there on vacation. (“Truly, my love. I would you tell you otherwise.”) He tells her about his latest jobs, his frustration at the incompetence of his teams, and the possibility of moving out to India for some time.

Mal’s eyebrow quirks. “Griffin is okay with that?”

Eames pauses with his drink halfway to his mouth and glances up at her. He sees the anger and concern in her eyes. “Of course he is.” She doesn’t blink, just stares at him until Eames has to look away. They sit in silence for a long time before Mal speaks again.

“I do not understand what it is you see in him, Jamie.”

“Mal, don’t.”

She sighs, frowns as she leans back in her chair. “Whatever you are looking for, he is not it. You deserve someone as special and talented as you. He knows that, my love. And all of this will come to a very unpleasant end.”

Eames starts to get up but Mal’s hand on his stops him. When he looks up, her face is etched with sadness. “I do not want you to hurt.”

He can’t think of any response so he just walks away.

\--

Mal was right. It comes to a head very quickly. He is stuck in a simulation that goes sideways, and by the time they’ve managed to get them out finally, Eames has lost almost the whole day. It leaves him shaken with a sense of time loss that he can’t get past.

When he looks at his phone, there are too many calls to count. He doesn’t have the strength to respond and decides to meet Griffin at home. He stumbles through the door, and before he can announce his arrival, Griffin’s hands are gripping his arms.

“Where the fuck were you?”

Eames swallows hard and attempts to keep his facial expression neutral. “Work project. We got lost –“

He doesn’t see the first hit coming. Never does. There’s a crack in his ribs but Griffin is holding him up by the neck. He shoves him hard against the wall, pain shooting down his arm where Eames thinks he just dislocated his shoulder. “Do you think I don’t know? Who is he? Who are you fucking, Eames?”

Eames shakes his head, flashes back to before when Griffin had broken his nose and how he had promised that would be the last time. It hits him like a ton of bricks now and he can clearly see who Griffin is. This is not Eames. He is not helpless. He has to get away.

He shoves his palm up and in, hears Griffin scream loudly, crumple to the floor. The blood is dripping from his hands, his nose, everywhere. Eames doesn’t bother with anything except his PASIV. He can replace everything else. He doesn’t even look back as the door closes with a slam behind him.

\--

He meets Yusuf on a particularly horrible extraction. Eames loves Mombasa and jumps at the chance to return to the city with its heat and crowds. He doesn’t know this team but he’s heard good things about Natasha and Renfro. They seem to know what they are doing but Eames isn’t sure about their architect, Nash.

Eames watches him work, notes how he seems to cut corners in his research and doesn’t work in the right details on a few different areas of his build. It bothers Eames deeply. He prides himself on his extensive research, on capturing every minute detail of their marks. They fight about it more than once.

“It’s not the right shade.”

Nash grinds his teeth, glares daggers at Eames. “It’s a dream and he won’t notice.”

Eames shakes his head. “It’s set inside his childhood home. He will absolutely bloody notice.”

“Look, Eames. Stick to your dress up. The build is mine, ok?” Nash stomps out of the room, leaving Eames frustrated and angry.

The job goes on that way for weeks until they’ve somehow finally managed to finish the dreamscape and gotten into the mark’s head.

The mark notices.

It’s not the first time Eames is ripped apart by projections and won’t be the last, but it is the first time the kick is slow in coming and his death takes too long. There’s no one monitoring to make sure he comes out of it fast. The team continues on to finish the job. No one puts a bullet in his head to make it easier for him.

When he wakes up in the hotel, he is still strapped to the PASIV while the rest of them congratulate each other on achieving the extraction. Eames quietly disconnects the line in his arm, rolling it back into its proper place. His legs feel shaky as he rises but he will not let them see that.

“Eames!” Renfro claps his shoulder, spewing on about the payout, when Eames will receive the rest of it, and attempts to make plans for their next job as they clean up. Eames says nothing, wipes down all the areas he can remember having touched. Nash is in the corner, nodding as Natasha quietly reproaches him. Eames doesn’t even bother to say anything. They sure as hell will not hear from him again.

He leaves them all behind and heads out of the hotel, into the stifling Kenyan heat. His mind reels, sensation of arms and fingers digging into his skin, pulling and pulling until the pain seared through everything still with him. He has felt pain before but nothing like that. Griffin’s fists paled in comparison to _that_. Eames leans his hand against a wall, red brick and rough, brings his mind back to reality. He is in the waking world. He is here. His eyes fall on the door of a bar.

Bars have never quite brought him good luck but he needs oblivion. The man behind the counter has dark curly hair, the slightest of British accent underlying his words. He pours Eames a drink and allows him to sit while he talks about the weather, his job as a chemist, the World Cup. His eyes are shrewd but not unkind.

“People always let you down, my friend. It is never their intention but it is what makes them, makes us human. The mistakes we make. The way we can hurt others.”

Eames stares into his glass, nods once before finishing off his drink. He looks up at the bartender. “Do you know anywhere I can stay?” He holds out his hand. “Eames.”

“There’s a hostel two streets down that doesn’t ask questions and is fairly well maintained,” is the reply, then the man takes his hand. “Yusuf.”

And that is how Eames meets Yusuf.

\--

He takes as many jobs as he can but he starts vetting them more carefully. Making sure they can teach him something or hone a skill that he doesn’t quite have in his set.

Eames needs to make sure that he becomes the best at what he does. He wants to be the one that people call. He wants to go in on his own terms. To show his strength.

He needs to forget who he’d briefly become.

\--

Mal has been his friend since he was a tiny tot running around her father’s sitting room as she watched after him. Their age difference is only a few years but she has always appointed herself his older sister – his guardian. Once he began in Dreamshare, she guided him to the right set of people, gave him advice, and (Eames appreciates this one the most) allowed him to come to her when he was ready to meet her husband, Dominic.

He wants to work with the best and the whisperings in the Dream community were all the same. The Cobbs were fast becoming the best and most wanted team with the best and most interesting jobs.

Mal calls him and invites him to Paris. And even though he has yet to tell her what happened with Griffin, Eames decides to go. He arrives at the hotel, a large monstrosity of architecture on the Rue du Rivoli, and laughs at the ridiculousness of it. It is very much a place Mal would choose. There is a room waiting for him when he checks in at the desk.

He turns to head to the lifts, key in hand, planning to sleep a few hours before calling on Mal and her new husband, when a man catches his eye. Eames blinks when the man cautiously smiles at him and steps forward. He chides his heart and other parts for reacting this way. He is not in any way interested in anybody, thank you kindly.

“Eames?”

“Um. Yes?”

The man’s eyebrow rises and the smallest of smirks forms on his lips. “Are you sure?”

Eames feels he is being judged and possibly found a bit wanting. “It all depends, darling, on whether I owe you money, a favour, or have in some way offended you. If that is the case, then, no, wrong chap.”

He catches the way the man’s lips twitch but he doesn’t smile again or laugh. “Arthur. I work with Cobb and Mal. They asked me to meet a Mr. Eames in the lobby.”

“Ah, yes. Well then that would be me.”

Arthur nods then gestures to the lifts. “I’ll walk you up.” He starts to move but Eames remains in place.

“I would rather have some time to rest if you don’t mind.” Eames feels it in the pit of his stomach, this ball of anger unraveling, and this stranger, this Arthur will get the full brunt of all of Eames’ rage if he doesn’t get away now. He doesn’t understand the reaction but it happens to him. Some remnant left over from his time with Griffin.

Arthur stares at him and somehow whatever he feels must show on his face because the man takes a step back and nods. “I’ll let them know that. Penthouse, whenever you're ready.” He turns on his heels and disappears around the corner, behind a massive column. Eames stares at where Arthur had been standing for a long time. His heart is racing and something inside him is screaming to look, to pay attention, that this is important. He doesn’t listen and makes his way up the lift to his room. Sleep will clear it all up.

\--

By the time he is hungry, it is near eight at night and Eames isn’t sure whether Mal and company will have waited. He dresses carefully, paisley flowered shirt unbuttoned only one button, his jacket with the frayed elbows looking rumpled and old. He wipes his hands on his thighs, hisses at the slight pain. He needs to be careful because Mal has the keen eye of an eagle. She will know immediately. Then she will want to talk and he does not want that at all.

He has been taking many risks and a knife wound isn’t something he takes lightly. Mal, however, will have fits.

Making his way toward the top floor, he prepares himself for anything. The door is answered by Mal in an elegant, deep midnight blue gown, shimmering in the light. Eames smiles and pulls her into a hug. She kisses his ear, then cheek, and pulls him inside.

“Let me introduce you to your future, darling.” She moves aside and Eames' eyes fall on Arthur.

This is not going to end well.

\--

He works the next three jobs back to back with the Cobbs and Arthur. It’s the most time he has spent with anyone other than Griffin. Somehow they seem to find the most interesting jobs, the hardest extractions, the best payoffs.

Eames learns many things about Arthur.

Arthur is organised, meticulous, and ruthless (when the need calls for it).

Arthur runs Mal and Dom’s entire life.

Arthur is intensely smart and quick thinking.

Arthur makes Eames’ insides turn to jelly and his heart flutter when he looks at him.

Arthur is the person that makes that thing inside Eames slot into place. And it’s not how he felt with Griffin. He isn’t searching for it. It’s just there.

And he thinks maybe Arthur feels the same way.

So at the end of their third job, he tells the Cobbs and Arthur that he needs a break. He’ll get in contact with them. He kisses Mal on the cheeks, shakes Dom’s hand, and nods once at Arthur. He can’t bear to look at his face as he walks out.

\--

Kenya was always one of his favourite places to go even as a child. It becomes his sanctuary. More than any other place, Eames can be found there. He buys an apartment in the heart of Mombasa, blocks from Yusuf’s eventual den. He finds the best gambling games in town and loses more than he can honestly afford. It never bothers him, but he is aware Yusuf begins to skim off some of his earnings in order to keep Eames from going completely broke.

Even after Eames assures him that he has plenty of money from a completely legal estate, Yusuf continues to skim and save.

He starts working small jobs in the area even though one of the first things he learned early on was that you should never work where you live. The problem is he is itching to work. He dialed Arthur’s number a dozen times, ending the call before he could be connected. To fend off the need, he isn’t smart about vetting. He takes risks.

He gets sloppy.

He joins a team against his better judgement for a simple extraction. It’s in Paris and he knows the real reason he takes it is because he wants to be closer to Arthur without actually seeing him. He also likes his team, having worked with the architect, Nayla, and their extractor, Vincent, several times.

But as soon as he gets down into the dream, he knows something has gone wrong. The projections are on them immediately. Eames doesn’t hesitate, pulling a gun and shooting himself in the head. He jolts up in his chair and rolls out seconds before the door bursts open to gunfire. He pulls down Vincent and Nayla before the burn of the bullet sears through his chest.

The rest is a blur, and when the mess is over, he feels too weak to resist his first instinct. Nayla and Vincent are already gone and he knows they owe him nothing. He told them to go but now he needs someone. He pulls out his phone.

“Eames.”

“Hello, darling. I think I may need your help.”

Arthur only pauses a second. “Where are you?”

Eames smiles.

\--

They fall into something rather than consciously aim for it. That’s okay with Eames. Arthur doesn’t ask but Eames tells him about Griffin. He wants to explain why he can’t let Arthur get too close. He needs Arthur to understand that it has nothing to do with him. It’s all Eames. He doesn’t want to be hurt that way again. He knows that Arthur would never actually hurt him.

His heart knows it.

But his head. His head can’t trust anything.

\--

Then Mal dies.

And everything changes again. Eames lets Arthur go to help Dom.

He goes back to Mombasa, gambles and drinks, does a few real world forgery jobs and passes the time away.

He knows he is waiting.

\--

Dom comes looking for him. He offers extraction and Arthur.

They are different this time. Everything hangs in the balance.

Eames goes under believing that they won’t be able to make it out. They won’t be able to do inception. And when things go wrong at every turn in that third level, when he is dying on the floor, his only regret is not being able to see Arthur.

Then it’s over and they’ve made it out.

\--

The problem is that Eames wants Arthur to depend on him, to let him rescue him for once. Eames wants Arthur to realise that Eames doesn’t always need rescuing. Eames has never been in love, not before Arthur. He mistook Griffin for love, looking for a connection that wasn’t there.

Then came Arthur. That’s it for him. He knows that.

But he also knows that it will never work out between them if Arthur doesn’t understand that Eames needs him to always be… alive, well, happy. He needs Arthur to exist in the world. He wants to be that place where Arthur exists.

The door to their apartment opens and Eames can feel Arthur’s stare boring into the back of his head. He refuses to turn around to look at him. This conversation is long overdue but he isn’t looking forward to having it. The life that he and Arthur have built, it may be tenuous at times, it may be hectic and crazy, but it is theirs.

And Eames wants to keep it so badly that he will do almost anything to stay there.

Arthur doesn’t move any closer but Eames hears him shift as he takes off his jacket, lays his keys on the side table with a clink before going silent for three long seconds.

“You can’t ever do that again.”

Eames closes his eyes. “I can’t promise that.”

“Damn it, James!”

He smiles slightly at that. Arthur means business then. He only brings out Eames' first name when he is truly upset.

“You could have gone into Limbo! Do you realize that? If I got caught in there and the dream collapsed, you would have been there.”

Eames stands and turns, some of his pent-up worry turned into anger, thrumming through his veins. “Yes I do know that, love. But what was the alternative? Let you stay there? Just watch as you fell into another place I couldn’t reach you. Let you become like Mal. Some figment in my mind because you were gone. No, I don’t think I could do that. I’m sorry.”

Arthur’s face contorts in grief for a moment, Mal’s death still painful after all these years. “But you would have wanted that for me?” He digs his fingers in his hair, pulling slightly. “I need you to be here, Eames.”

“And I need to be where you are, Arthur!”

Silence echoes after Eames' statement and they stare at one another until Arthur snorts, shaking his head. “Are we honestly about to argue over who needs who more? Are we about to become those people? Because I really could pass on that.”

Eames takes a deep breath, closes the distance between them. “I just… I want to be someone who you count on, love.”

Arthur looks confused, then understanding dawns on his face. “You think I don’t?” He reaches for Eames, tilts his head back and kisses his mouth, long and deep. When he pulls back, he makes sure to meet Eames' eyes. “Why would you think that?”

Eames shrugs. “You keep saving me. I don’t want that to be how it is. I want to be there for you.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “I am going to get a blowjob from you after this, Eames. You are making me say some ridiculous things right now. Listen to me. You rescued me right back, okay? I was alone when I was with Mal and Dom. And you walked in with your loudness and made it better for me. I was wallowing after and you trusted me to help you. You let me go when I needed and came right back when I wanted you to.”

Eames feels the smile starts at the edges of his lips. “I am perfect, pet.”

Arthur sighs. “So not, Eames. So not.” He kisses Eames' cheek and guides him towards the bedroom. “But you are exactly what I want.”

Eames thinks that’s all he can ever ask for.

 


End file.
